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Septacy
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That Night, a Forest Grew
Soft speak
from quiet lips.
Mirroring
my fingerprints.
Knees bruised
from when you fell,
and I swore I'd catch you.
Will I catch you?
You tell me.
The trees
extend a hand
to help you up again.
And now we
flip through play books,
bite the fish hook,
lead the lives of love at first look,
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only to starve in the end.
'It's all your fault,'
you tell me,
from a far off sea
where you won't hear this
melody.
You took yourself from me,
and now I drift among your sea.
I did not know I should be afraid.
But my grave has grown so cold and
blue without your rose.
And when I fall to hell,
will you catch me?
You tell me.
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